


Patterns

by Nary



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Andusk, Blood, Bloodplay, Creepy, F/M, Murder, Religion, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-03
Updated: 2010-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a hunger in her eyes, so fierce and insatiable that it might be unsettling, if Willem were the type of man to be unsettled. Fortunately, he isn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patterns

Thia leans back on the stolen bed, waiting for him. Her skirts are hitched up, her legs spread, and there is a hunger in her eyes, so fierce and insatiable that it might be unsettling, if Willem were the type of man to be unsettled. Fortunately, he isn't. But he does make her keep waiting, teasing her with his free hand until she moans. The wetness between her legs feels blood-warm, slick and sticky and vaguely disgusting to him. They don't have all night, though, and Thia's growing ever more impatient, so he moves atop her, pushing into her roughly.

She shudders with that first firm thrust, gasping out his name in the throes of her ecstasy, as if everything else has been merely a prelude to this crude physical union. Willem knows better. This is bodies joining together, a physical exchange that is nothing compared to the joy of divine revelation, the thrill of terror in a victim's eyes. He inflicts himself on her again and she cries out, accepting his punishment for her sins, revelling in it. He finds it is easier to look at the blood-patterns on the pillow than at her face, for they make more sense to him, the spray of drops at once predictable and beautiful.

"Now?" she asks, begging for a release more profound than the one she's already experienced. "Do it now, please?"

He relents, and lifts his other hand, the one with the blade in it. Thia turns her head to watch as he brings it to the throat of the shadar-kai woman lying bound and gagged on the bed beside them. Even with the gag, she's pleading, eyes eloquent as she begs for her life, much as she begged for her husband's earlier. It didn't work then, and it won't save her now. With a flick of his wrist he opens her throat, and the darkness spills from her in a river, pumping out its last, pathetic bursts to soak the sheets with her life's blood. It is that sight that finishes him off, not Thia's squeals of delight or her nails digging into his shoulders, but that slow-pumping blood and the panic that stays on his victim's face even after her eyes have gone glassy and still. That is the only true ecstasy he has ever known.


End file.
